Month: April 2018

Oliver’s Story – Part 2: The NICU

Michelle Van Benthem

When Oliver was first born, he was perfect. He even smiled in one of the first pictures we ever took together. I was so groggy from the medication, I wish I remembered that moment better. If I knew I wouldn’t get to hold him for another 12 hours, I would have fought the meds and tried to pay more attention and take it all in more. But I didn’t know, how could I.

The nurses that were working with Oliver started to explain to me that his breathing wasn’t right. Something about breathing too fast and struggling. They said they were going to take him for observation. There was nothing I could do. I was still open on the table. I still had no feeling in most of my body. So Zach went with Ollie and I was taken to recovery. Once again, my chance at a perfect birth story was ruined and I had this overwhelming sense of failure. There was literally nothing I could do. It took what felt like days to get feeling back in my legs, and I wasn’t allowed to leave the recovery room until I did. Finally Zach came in along with a doctor, Dr. Potterjoy, and they explained what was going on.

Oliver had transient tachypnea of the newborn. In short, it means that Oliver was born with some amniotic fluid still in his lungs making it difficult for his lungs to function properly. His breathing was too rapid and his lungs were retracting, going under his ribs, each time he inhaled. As a result, the doctors moved him to the NICU and hooked him up to a CPAP machine. This provided his lungs with pressurized oxygen to help keep them and the little air sacs inside inflated. He also was given IV fluids, got a chest X-ray, had an NG tube inserted, and had numerous blood draws to check for infection, jaundice, and low blood sugar. He was only a few hours old, and already was going through so much.

Once I had finally regained feeling in my lower half, I was told I could be taken to the NICU to see Oliver. I wouldn’t be able to hold him yet, but I could at least do a “drive by” and see him. By some random chance and coincidence, a girl I know from religious school but haven’t seen or talked to other than Facebook in years, was working in the maternity ward that day. She happened to see my parents in the waiting area and went to see what was going on. She was the one who came to take me to my postpartum room, not something she would typically do, and took us to the NICU first. Because she knew me, Zach and I were able to spend a little more time with Oliver than they would typically allow. It wasn’t much, but it meant the world. (Thank you Jamie!)

This was my first experience with NICU nurses. Other than one or two (who weren’t bad, but were just ok), Oliver had amazing nurses! His first nurse was a girl named Mandy. Seeing Oliver hooked up to all the wires and machines and monitors was so scary and overwhelming. Mandy took the time to explain all of it. She made us feel as comfortable as we could. After a little bit, Jamie took us up to the postpartum room and I had to start my recovery.

Nurses came in, introducing themselves, telling me about my care, my recovery, when I would need to get up a walk, when I could eat, everything that was related to me. All I wanted to know was when I could go back and see my son. The nurses also talked to me about trying to express colostrum. Anything I could get was sent to the NICU and given to Oliver. I have absolutely nothing against formula, but I really wanted Oliver to get breastmilk if possible. Since mine hadn’t come in yet, I signed off for him to receive donor milk until it did. Fortunately, it came in pretty quick and I was able to supply my own for him within a few days.

That night, I was allowed to go back to the NICU and visit with Oliver. Zach changed his diaper and his nurse walked us through what his care looked like. Finally, after 12+ hours, I was able to hold my baby boy. It was scary, trying to hold him and navigate around all of the wires and machines, his little face was so scrunched up. His eyes were squeezed close. His body was swollen from all of the fluids. It was such a bittersweet moment. I was so happy to see and hold my son, but so sad and scared to see him looking the way he did.

The doctors came by and talked to us about his prognosis. It was good. Overall, he was a healthy baby, he was just early and needed some help catching up. The emotional side of me was convinced this would be quick and we would all go home together, a happy family, in a few days. The realistic and rational side of me knew that chances were, I would be leaving the hospital empty handed, again.

Each day, we went to see Oliver at least twice a day. We started taking over his care during the times we went. Changing his diaper, bottle feeding him, holding him, taking his temperature. The nurses were great at making us feel involved in his daily care. We tried to get there for rounds at least one of our visits. The doctors were great. We told them about our history, about Stella and Joy, and they were sensitive to our situation. They made sure to tell us how it was, not sugar coating anything, but also reassured us that Oliver was healthy and making lots of little improvements each day.

March 28th, two days after Oliver was born, was a big day! We started the day trying to breastfeed. Oliver really struggled, but the fact that they let me try was a sign that he was already doing better. They took him off the CPAP machine and put him on a nasal cannula instead. The CPAP was removed because his nurse really fought for him. She told the doctors he didn’t need anymore. She told them he was getting stronger, she told them he could handle having a less intrusive support. She fought for my son, and the doctors agreed. In addition, his feeding tube was moved from his mouth to his nose instead. It was such a great morning. When we back later that night, we realized that his IV was gone! The nurses had removed it because it was leaking and he did fine without it, so they decided to leave it out.

. That Morning

. That Night

Even with all of the progress he made that day, we knew that he would not be coming home with us when we left. That was a hard realization, but important for us the understand. I had to keep reminding myself that he was healthy baby, he was just breathing fast. Looking around the NICU, I had to remind myself that we’re lucky. So many of the babies and families had been there for months, and would probably be staying for more. All things considered,our NICU stay paled in comparison to theirs. But, that didn’t make it easier. I still didn’t understand why I couldn’t make and take home a healthy baby.

Thursday, March 29th, Zach and I left the hospital, empty handed, once again. Oliver was still in the NICU, but we were hopeful he would be coming home Sunday. We held on to that hope, telling ourselves we would all be a family soon. Zach and I went back to the NICU that night. It was really hard to go and then leave again without Oliver. We did this twice a day, for the rest of the time he was there.

We were still holding on to the hope that Oliver would be coming home with us Sunday. When we went to the NICU Friday morning, we were still hopeful. We went about his morning routine, changing, feeding, holding him. We talked with the doctors and nurses and they told us he was still doing well, it they weren’t ready to make any promises. That was hard to hear. We left and came back again later that night.

That night, they told us he would not be coming home Sunday. Zach and I held it together pretty well. The doctor explained that they didn’t want to send him home early and then have us need to come back because something was wrong. I understood, but that didn’t make it easier. We had a rough night once we got home. We both kept saying we weren’t getting our hopes up for Sunday, but they truth is, we did. It was really hard to accept that he wouldn’t be. It was even harder because they didn’t tell us a new date. The unknown is scary. The lack of control is terrifying. The inability to help your child is unbearable.

Saturday morning nothing changed. We continued to administer his care as we normally would. The nurse said he had a pretty good night, they may even take off the nasal cannula that night depending how he did during the day. This was huge. If he could make it 24 hours without the cannula, he would be able to come home. But we still didn’t want to get our hopes. It’s so hard not to get your hopes up…

We came back that night, and they still hadn’t taken off the cannula. The nurse that night was wonderful. She really tried to help me with breastfeeding. You could tell she truly cared about Oliver, me, and Zach. She wanted us to succeed and go home. It’s nice to know you have people in your corner. Oliver really struggled with nursing. We tried for about 15 minuets, and then switched to a bottle. We didn’t want him to get frustrated and have an episode with his breathing or heart rate. The night doctors hadn’t done rounds yet, but we needed to go home. I asked the nurse to call me after rounds and let me know if they took out cannula. She agreed. Once again, we left that night, no baby in tow. About an hour or so later, the nurse called. They had removed the cannula. He just needed to make it 24 hours without it, and we would get to take him home!

When we came back Sunday morning, and noticed Oliver’s cannula was still off! He made it through the night without it. The feeling was indescribable. We also learned Oliver was going to be circumcised that morning. This was huge, because the doctor told us he needed to go 24 hours without the cannula in order to be discharged and that they would set up the circumcision the day before they thought he would be going home. The pediatric urologist came and took Oliver back for his procedure.

A few minutes later, the doctors came around doing their rounds. He told us that Oliver was tongue tied. The nurse from the night before realized it after we had left and left a note for the morning nurse to tell the doctors. It so happened that the doctor on that morning was one who could do the simple procedure, a lingual frenectomy. He explained that it would be quick, just a simple clip of the membrane under his tongue, and while there would be some blood, it was very quick to heal. We agreed to do the procedure and he went back and did it. Within a few minute, our poor baby was clipped on both ends!

When they brought Oliver back to us he was screaming. He had blood on his face. It looked worse than it was. I immediately put him to breast and his crying stopped. He never cried again, well at least not because of the procedures he had done. The doctor talked with us for a bit, and told us the news we had been waiting for. Oliver would be allowed to go home Monday! We went home, so excited for the next day, but still knowing we had to come and go one more time without him.

When we went back Sunday night, the nurse from the previous night was there again. We thanked her for finding his tongue tie and for fighting for him. For calling me the night before about the cannula and helping us get one step closer to bringing out boy home. She was just happy to help. Zach, Ollie and I took our first family picture that night. No tubes on his face, the three of us together. It was amazing. That night we went home, knowing it was the last time we would leave without our baby. Come Monday morning, we would be a family, leaving together.

Come Monday morning, we could barely contain ourselves. It was finally here. The day we got to bring our son home. As I said before, I know the length of our stay in the NICU doesn’t even compare to what many of the other parents and children there go through, but given our history, it was awful. The feeling of finally being able to bring a baby home with us was something I truly didn’t know if I would ever be able to do.

I wish I remembered all of the nurses names that we had encountered. They were truly amazing. They fought for Oliver, getting him off the CPAP, finding his tongue tie, taking off his cannula. While we also loved the doctors we saw there, it really was the nurses who made the difference.

One week after Oliver came into the world, he came home. Our journey in the NICU had come to an end. Our journey as a family was about to begin.

Oliver’s Story – Part 1: The Delivery

Oliver’s Story – Part 1: The Delivery

Michelle Van Benthem

I have written and changed and deleted this post several times already. There is just too much to include in one, so I’m going to do it in three parts; the delivery, the NICU, and life at home. I can tell you now, it’s not the storybook experience I had hoped for, but I think it’s important to share and continue to help people understand the journey that is stillbirth, child loss, pregnancy after loss, and raising a rainbow baby.

Two weeks before my scheduled c-section, I woke up feeling very uncomfortable. I got out of bed, went downstairs to let Zach sleep some more, and tried to get more comfortable on the couch. I was having a lot of lower back pain and Braxton Hicks contractions. As I sat on the couch watching tv, I started to think, “Holy shit, I may actually be going into labor!” So I did what any responsible adult would do, I text my group chat, all moms, and asked them if what I was feeling was in fact contractions. We decided it was so I started to time them and then called the doctor who sent me to triage.

Once at the hospital, I was hooked up to the monitors where we saw I was in fact having real contractions, but I wasn’t dilating and there was no labor progression. Just in case Oliver decided to make an early arrival, the doctors gave me a course of betamethasone shots to help his lungs develop a little more. They kept me over night, Oliver did great on all the monitors, showing perfect readings the whole time we were there, and my contractions stopped completely.

When the doctors sent us home the next morning, the fear was indescribable. Last time I was sent home from the hospital this close to delivery, the next time I went to an appointment, I learned that Stella and Joy no longer had heartbeats. It was terrifying to put my faith in the doctors and monitors, and trusting that everything would be ok. The next two weeks, I stayed home, doing as little as possible, trying to make sure Oliver stayed in and safe until his scheduled arrival. I was hyper aware of every movement, or lack there of, and could focus on nothing else.

Those two weeks passed and suddenly it was Sunday night and Zach and I were laying in bed preparing for Monday morning and the birth of our son. I got a whole 2.5 hours of sleep and was already awake when the alarm went off at 5:30 am. The time had come. We grabbed our bags and headed over to the hospital, filled with both fear and excitement. Oliver’s birthday was finally here.

Once I got to the hospital, they brought me back to triage, and all of the prep work began. We were the first scheduled c-section of the day, 7:30 am, and the nurses said they were running on time. After I changed into the gown, two nurses came in and hooked me and Oliver up to all of the monitors. To say I was anxious would be a gross understatement. To put it in perspective, the heart rate monitor alarm kept going off because mine was as high as Oliver’s (around 140 at its peak). We explained our history to the nurses, who were incredibly kind and caring, and they decided to take that monitor off. They realized it wasn’t going to lower until I knew my boy was out and alive.

I cried a few times while in triage. Mostly out of nowhere, just randomly, and because of my nerves and anxiety. They have a clock facing the bed, so of course I just sat and stared, counting down until it was time to go to the OR. The doctors came in, check on me, signed my belly, and told me they were just waiting for the anesthesiologist to come down. That’s when things started to go downhill.

The anesthesiologist came in and let’s just say his bedside manner was lacking at best. There was something going on with medication not being where it needed to be, an internal problem, and he seemed to be taking it out on the nurses. None of this helped calm my nerves. He left, and the nurses prepped Zach and I for what was about to happen. They explained that Zach would not be allowed in the room right away, they talked about the anesthesia process, and what would happen with Oliver once he was born. Zach got dressed and we all walked over to the OR together.

At this point, it is important to mention that while I have had a c-section before, I really don’t remember much about it. By the time that surgery came, I had been given so many drugs to deal with the shock that my daughters were going to be delivered sleeping, that the entire thing is one big blur. I remember feeling like I couldn’t breathe at one point, and I remember crying and being scared, but other than that, my brain had done its best to forget the rest. The next thing I remember, Stella and Joy had already been changed and I was going to bed. There are things that I know happened, but I can’t recall the details.

Once I got to OR, I gave Zach a kiss, and left him in the scrub room while I continued on with the nurses. As we got into the room, the sounds, the cold, the feelings, the smells, all became so familiar. I started having flashbacks and remembering things from when I delivered Stella & Joy. At some point, all of the doctors and nurses introduced themselves and tried to make small talk. Everything was sort of blurry and I started shaking.

There was a wonderful nurse, I wish I could remember her name, who held my hand, asked me questions to try to keep my mind busy, and just talked to me like she had known me for years. The anesthesiologist came in and they again explained the process of getting the spinal. It was then that I really started to panic. Again, this nurse held my hand, rubbed my head and hair as a curled over so the spinal could be inserted. She tried so hard, but it all came back. The numbness running up my spine and down my back. The feeling of weights on my chest and not being able to breathe. The brightness of the overhead lights. The sounds of the monitors beeping and tracking. I started to cry. I started to panic. I didn’t think I could do it.

Zach still wasn’t in the room. I was crying and telling anyone who would listen that I couldn’t breathe. They all tried to reassure me that I was breathing, pointing to the monitors and showing me my oxygen level. I remembered the nurses doing the exact same thing when I delivered Stella and Joy. I asked repeatedly for Zach, begging them to let him in. It was then that the anesthesiologist basically threatened me, if I didn’t calm down, Zach would not be allowed in and they would put me under instead. I froze, and held in my tears and fear the best I could.

Finally, after what felt like hours, Zach was allowed in. Once again, the rest of the c-section is a blur. Zach says at one point I got very pale and my blood pressure dropped very low. He was scared, but I don’t remember. It felt like hours had gone by, but it had only been about 45 minutes. They said I would feel pressure, but I don’t remember feeling anything. Then the doctor said, “He’s here! Wow, he’s a big boy!” I remember asking if he was alive. I needed to hear those words. I didn’t want to know that he was there, I wanted to know that he was alive. And he was.

I cried, and continued to cry, as Zach went over with the nurses and Oliver and the doctors finished working on me. They brought him over and held him next to my head for a few minute and let me see him. At one point, someone came over and started telling me that Oliver was having trouble breathing. They said they were going to take him to the special care nursery for observation. I told Zach to go with him. I didn’t want to be alone, but I needed someone I trusted to be with Oliver. They left and the next thing I really remember, I was in the recovery room.

Once in recovery, I was finally able to drink some water. There was a nurse there, but it was much quieter and darker than the OR. I still was numb from about the chest down, and I hated that feeling. I want to adjust how I was laying and I couldn’t do it. I wanted to wiggle my toes and I couldn’t do it. I wanted to bend my knees and I couldn’t do it. I wanted to go see my baby, but I couldn’t do it.

Two nurses came in and had me hand express as much colostrum as I could. They were going to take it down to the special care nursery. I still didn’t know what was going on, and Zach was still down there. I cried some more. How is that I have had three kids, and not one was born normal?

I’m not sure who came in first, but Zach and a doctor from the NICU came to the recovery room and started to explain to me what was going on with Oliver. The doctor was really good about explaining what the possible scenarios were, best case and worst case, but it was all gibberish to me. All I knew was that I brought yet another child into the world that I could not hold, or bond with, or comfort, or save from danger. I really questioned my ability to be a good mother.

After an hour or so in the recovery room, I was wheeled down to the NICU where I was able to see and touch Oliver, but I still couldn’t hold him. Then I was brought to my postpartum room, on the other side of the hospital. Once again, the c-section was a bit of a blur. The delivery was traumatic for a whole other set of reasons this time. But it was only the first part of Oliver’s story.